I set out to write this blog post with my only criteria being that I must be funny. So I looked around to my husband to see if he was doing anything unusual or entertaining that I could glean inspiration from. He’s the silly, hilarious one in the relationship who is consistently entertaining. I’m more the reactive, witty one who accidentally says and does funny things and then stares back blankly trying to figure out what part of my comment was the part that made people laugh. Then it becomes one of those moments where a 3 year old repeats the word fuck because they said it once, everyone laughed hilariously, and they expect the same results over and over again. This is awkward because I’m not 3 and no one finds it cute when I say fuck.

Every time I take a shower, there’s a moment where I feel as if I’m in a scene from an indie movie. I’m not exactly sure what it is. Perhaps the total mundaneness of taking a shower. Perhaps it’s the poor lighting coupled with the unsexy ambient sound made by my water pressure and the ceiling fan that accrue into neither a dramatically compelling nor humorous moment. Or it’s my long gaze at my 1980s shower facet, which will need to be turned on and off by a screw driver at any moment now. Each time I look down at the thing, I wonder if this will be the day that the water will just continue to run, no matter how many times I turn that plastic dial around. Or perhaps it’s the reality of my body being the naked body in the shower. My imperfect, pale, hairy body being in shot. I mean, only some low-budget, poorly-lit film set would allow this chick to be naked and on screen and I don’t even mean that in a self-deprecating way. I like my body. It’s just not the kind of body that would show up in a Hollywood shower scene. Only a movie written by Lena Dunham or something, but I think she usually keeps the nude scenes for herself.